


Sleep

by deathwailart



Series: Rhiannon Amell [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ways of getting to sleep or Zevran lends a restless Amell a helping hand</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep

Being unable to sleep is something she is becoming grudgingly accustomed to now; there are nightmares to contend with, aches and pains from long days of travel and fighting and despite best efforts the cold of the ground makes it up through the tent. Then there's being constantly alert for trouble of any sort so that any random noise from the camp has her jerking awake and once she's awake, it's hard to drift off once more. Right now she's awake after hearing the logs of the fire give way with much snapping and crackling, listening to the relative quiet all around her, Zevran asleep in her tent (not a first but still not something she's used to yet because normally one of them goes back to their own tent depending on whose tent they used) with his head near her shoulder. Carefully, she rolls over onto her stomach, watching him as he sleeps. She looks away quickly though because he has an uncanny awareness no doubt from his life as a Crow that means that he wakes if something doesn't feel right to him. Besides, it's too dark for her to really see properly anyway. Huffing, she tries to get comfortable and lies there for Maker knows how long, growing increasingly annoyed with herself before she bites her lip. So maybe back at the tower no one slept so close to her but she's used to doing this in utter silence, only an increase in breathing and a bit of wriggling or shifting a sign that anything is happening and for all Zevran knows, she'll be having a nightmare. It's not as if he ever asks her about them when they happen, some strange courtesy or simply just too much given that this is a purely physical thing as far as either of them have discussed.  
  
Another moment of deliberation passes before she shoves her hand under the blankets with little finesse, bunching up the old shirt she wears to sleep in (one of Sten's with a big rip in the shoulder but worn and long enough to keep her decent in her tent although Alistair almost died when he woke her for watch one night and was confronted by just how much bare leg was on display) as she gets to work. It takes longer than she would like but she's still tired, her body heavy but her mind jumping around from place to place but eventually everything co-operates and she knows that she'll fall asleep once she's done, one last little push as she scrunches her eyes close, toes curling, falling into a relatively boring (by now, at least) but tried and true fantasy.  
  
Or it does until Zevran clears his throat and she stops dead, wondering just how ridiculous this situation is or how she must look because Zevran is under the blankets with her too and he will know exactly where her other hand is and what it's up to.  
  
“Should I be insulted?” He asks, sleep making his accent thicker.  
  
“No,” she replies, fighting the urge to giggle, “it's not about that. I'm tired.”  
  
“Your actions very much suggest otherwise my dear.”  
  
“You don't ever do this when you need to sleep but your mind is screaming at you?”  
  
“Would you like a hand?”  
  
She considers it for a moment and then nods, scooting closer and turning onto her side enough that his fingers can join hers. Her head ends up beneath his chin, something that only works when they're lying down because she's human and will always be taller than him, not that it's ever bothered either of them in the past and pushes into his clever touch. She was close already and his fingers get her there quicker until she gasps and goes still, eyes closed. He pulls his hand – and hers – away quicker than normal and when she opens her eyes again and looks up, he's smiling blearily at her.  
  
“Better?”  
  
“Much. Thanks.” And she kisses his chin, just because she can, adjusting her shirt as she gets comfortable once more.  
  
“No need to thank me, dear warden, I am sure you would be willing to help if I were afflicted with such a thing.” She snorts a laugh and gives him a shove, yawning, sleep making her vision grey around the edges and she hopes there will be no reason for her to wake suddenly after this. The archdemon will have plenty to answer for if she does.


End file.
